


A tale of elves and orcs

by enfantdivine



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enfantdivine/pseuds/enfantdivine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was an orc, he was sure of it – a real one who was coming to hunt him with a morgul blade, kill him and all his kin in their sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A tale of elves and orcs

**Author's Note:**

> This story is innocent and nothing too special, but I had to write it. I don't know why. I just got this idea and it wouldn't leave me alone. I hope you like it anyway :) I am still the worst at finding titles, but I have to name these fics somehow, I guess. 
> 
> I like to think Legolas was born when Mirkwood was called Greenwood the Great because he deserves to have had a happy and completely carefree childhood. I also like the headcanon that he and Tauriel are the same age and grew up together<3
> 
> Thank you so much for the lovely feedback on my previous fic, that's my greatest incentive to keep on writing :)
> 
> Translations:  
> Ada = dad, daddy  
> Ion nín = my son  
> Tithen pen = little one

“I am the Prince of Greenwood the Great!” Legolas said in a practiced haughty voice, and turned his nose up like he had seen his father do countless times. “I _cannot_ be an orc.” 

“Very well,” Tauriel replied. She rolled her eyes with the expression of someone used to always give in. “I shall be the orc then. I am taller than you anyway.” 

“That is a lie!” the prince protested, quick to frown. “Take off your boots and we shall see who is taller!”

“No time!” she grinned, drawing her sword. “I have an elvish princeling to kill!” She lunged forward without delay, and Legolas had to duck to avoid the assault that aimed for his head. Tauriel stepped back to focus on her defense. She knew her friend’s comeback would be fast and fierce, so she raised her weapon, almost too late. Legolas pressed his sword against hers, aiming to disarm her by sheer force, but she stood her ground, much to his frustration.

“I shall prevail, you foul fiend!” he warned through teeth gritted in effort. Their faces were so close now that their noses brushed against each other, and he wrinkled his at the contact.

“You are welcome to try, elf runt,” she panted. “I am the Great Orc-Queen! No one can defeat _me_!”

Legolas felt his balance wavering as she pulled her sword from under his unexpectedly, but an instant later he regained it back in full, just in time to leap to the left and dodge her quick blow. It was his turn to strike, and she parried his attack elegantly. She was good, he had to admit it – maybe just as good as him – but he was quicker, and so, he forced her to ward off stroke after powerful stroke. For a while, all that could be heard in the Great Hall was the sound of wood slamming against wood, and their occasional strained cries. They were so engrossed in their duel they forgot it was late – too late for them to be out there, in the empty hall, but suddenly, the gruesome consequences of getting caught did not seem as terrible as being defeated in their playful fight to either of them.

Even though she was backing away from Legolas, Tauriel strategically led him towards the spiral stairway to the royal sleeping quarters, gaining tactical advantage as soon as her feet got on the first step. The prince followed her as she climbed, the speed of his blows increasing in order for him to avoid a counterattack, but at some point he realized he couldn’t keep up with her for much longer. Therefore, he decided to try to end their battle before she could utilize her better position to do it herself. Besides, they were getting too close to the king’s bedroom, he realized. He just couldn’t risk waking him up.

“Prepare to die, filth!” he let out a war cry – not too loud though, the stern image of Thranduil looking at him with scolding eyes already vivid in his mind. He delayed his next hit deliberately, letting Tauriel prepare her retaliatory move, and, guessing its angle from the way she swung her arm, he pivoted on his toes and drove his sword forward.

At thin air.

“Tauriel?” he called softly. He climbed a few steps, looking around in utter confusion, but she was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t have too much visibility in front of him due to the stairway’s thick center pole, and the higher he climbed, the darker it got, so he stopped, pricking up his ears. “Get back here, you coward!” he demanded as he heard nothing but silence. “Come and meet your–” 

A sudden noise downstairs cut him off. Some words had been spoken, in a low, grumbling voice, words he could not make out. Then, there was a sound of footsteps getting closer as someone else climbed up as well, and Legolas froze instantly when a menacing shadow began to spread on the stone wall bordering the stairway. It could not be Tauriel’s, that much he realized. It was tall and massive, most likely thrown by a broad body, and another one, long and sharp, defiantly preceded it. A terrible fear pervaded Legolas’ heart. It was an orc, he was sure of it – a real one who was coming to hunt him with a morgul blade, kill him and all his kin in their sleep.

“–death,” he whispered, finishing his phrase, and with a gasp and a pirouette, he sprinted upstairs faster than he had ever imagined he could. He felt a pang of shame at the thought that he, as a prince, should have stayed there to face and fight the peril away, but what could he do, really? He was just an elfling with a wooden sword. He could not protect anyone, not even himself. The shadow grew closer, and terror overpowered all other thoughts and feelings he might have. All he knew was that he had to get away from it if he wanted a chance to stay alive.

He felt somewhat safer when he reached the last step, and he allowed himself the luxury to stop and look behind. He couldn’t see the shadow anymore, so he stood there for a few seconds, wondering if it had even been real or just a figment of his imagination affected by the enthusiastic fight against the Great Orc-Queen. Before long though, the pointy tip of the spear’s shadow came into his sight, and with a desperate whimper, he ran down the dark corridor, looking back over his shoulder all the time.

“Legolas!” he heard his father calling his name, but it was too late. In his rush, he crashed into the king’s leg and bounced back so forcefully he ended up on the floor with a startled look on his face and a broken whine escaping his mouth.

“What is the meaning of this?” Thranduil asked coldly, a slightly raised eyebrow the only sign of his indignation. He didn’t seem willing to help him up, and that, for some reason, discouraged Legolas to get to his feet right away. For a moment, he couldn’t tell who terrified him more – the creature behind or the one in front of him. “Answer me,” the king insisted. “Why are you not in bed at this night’s hour?”

“I– I am sorry, ada,” the prince uttered in a small voice, sitting up a little straighter. “I did not mean to disturb you. I was merely playing with Tauriel, and I–” He stopped talking abruptly, angry at himself for mentioning his friend’s name. Now, she was going to be punished too, even if he was the one who had been caught. He had betrayed her, he thought, ashamed again. But then again, hadn’t she betrayed him first when she had left him alone, prey to the orc she had surely seen before he had? Suddenly, he didn’t feel so guilty anymore.

“You say so,” Thranduil spoke again in that calm, intimidating voice, and squinted at his son suspiciously. “And yet, I do not see Tauriel around, only you. Are you lying to me, ion nín?”

It was a good time to get her out of trouble, but Legolas decided it was better to tell the truth. Lying could have disastrous consequences in that particular situation. “I am not! We were… Practicing sword-fighting in the Great Hall,” he explained, hoping that his choice of words would appease his father to some extent, but the look on Thranduil’s face did not change. “And then she saw an orc and fled. I saw it too, ada! I was just coming to warn you!”

“So you _are_ lying!” Thranduil said, and a thin line appeared between his eyebrows as he frowned, a sign that his mood had worsened. “Do you expect me to believe an orc sneaked into our Halls without anyone noticing?”          

“I saw him!” Legolas insisted. He looked behind, and although he couldn’t see the shadow yet, his ears caught the echo of footsteps even from that distance. “He’s coming,” he whispered, looking at his father again with pleading eyes full of dread.

Thranduil sighed, and his features relaxed into a lenient expression. He held out his right hand to Legolas, who grabbed it tightly after a moment of hesitation, and helped him rise, not letting go of his son’s much smaller one afterwards. “Then let us give him a proper welcome, shall we?” he proposed with a surprising lack of irony. “Together.”

“But, ada,” the prince protested when he became sure the king was serious, “you are unarmed!”

“You are not,” Thranduil smiled, making his son aware of the wooden sword he was still holding, and never before had Legolas felt braver than he did that very moment. He was so happy his father had forgiven him for his mischief, he didn’t even see the approaching orc as a threat anymore. With the king by his side, the little elf could overcome any challenge, any enemy, face any adventure, with no fear of ever failing.  

Hand in hand, they slowly advanced towards the stairway. “There he is!” Legolas exclaimed quietly when the shadow of the blade, and then that of the orc, began to spread on the illuminated wall, and his grip tightened even more on his sword and on his parent’s hand.

“Let him come. We shall wait for him here,” Thranduil said. They stopped at a short distance from the stairs, and wait they did.

When the one who cast the sinister shadow finally came into view, the first thing that Legolas felt was not relief, as he thought it should have been, but sheer disappointment. There was not going to be any fighting alongside his father because in front of them, with a somber, slightly puzzled look, stood Thranduil’s butler carrying a silver tray which supported a bottle of Dorwinion wine with a long neck and a pointy, beautifully crafted cap.

Legolas felt foolish and downright ridiculous. He couldn’t believe he had mistaken the butler’s graceful frame for an orc’s and that harmless bottle for a morgul blade. Thranduil was never going to believe him again. Angry and ashamed for the third time that night, he couldn’t even look at his father. His shoulders dropped, and tears started prickling his eyes, but before he let any of them fall, he heard Thranduil ask in his grave, kingly voice:

“Tell me, Galion, do you happen to have seen any orcs on your way here?”     

The butler appeared even more bewildered as he cocked his head to one side. “Orcs, my Lord? I–” He swallowed visibly and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, not sure as to what the king wanted to hear. “I am certain I have not seen any as of late. Is there concern about the presence of those creatures in our realm?”

The Elvenking gave him an icy glance. “Just tell the Captain of the Guard to be watchful of any sign of them. And be discreet about it!”

“Certainly, my Lord,” Galion said with a small bow.

“Good. Now take that wine to my chambers, I shall savor it later. Right now I must see to it that the prince is put to bed.” Thranduil withdrew his hand from his son’s grip and picked him up in his arms with no protest from Legolas. “And also that he _stays_ there,” he added admonishingly, but giving the elfling an affectionate look before he brought him to his chest. Legolas put his own arms around his parent’s neck, and once Galion was gone, he buried his face in the silky hair falling down Thranduil’s shoulders. 

“Thank you, ada,” he said softly. He didn’t mention what he expressed gratitude for, but hoped the king already knew.

“You do not have to thank me, Legolas,” Thranduil replied, carrying him gently to the prince’s bedroom. “I am your father and it is my duty to protect you. No harm shall come to you, tithen pen, not in our home, not in this forest.” He gave his temple a light kiss that lingered for a time, and patted his back. “Not while I am with you.”

Legolas held him tighter, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. He briefly wondered where Tauriel had disappeared – that was a mystery he hadn’t yet managed to elucidate – but he did not worry about her. She was as safe as him in the Elvenking’s Halls.


End file.
